


protego totalum

by nuitbleue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Full Moon, Headaches & Migraines, Protection Magic, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuitbleue/pseuds/nuitbleue
Summary: Sometime during the Second Wizarding War on a night of a full moon, Remus and Hermione are faced with peril which might have them discover more about themselves and each other then they would have thought. What does the word 'protection' mean at all, to her and to him? / Slight somewhat unresolved Remus/Hermione oneshot. Rated G, suitable for all readerships.





	protego totalum

**Author's Note:**

> This happened without much planning. I have been rewatching the films and rereading Phoenix and it inspired me to write again. I want to say I do like Tonks' character and I am very much at peace with their relationship (the actors both sold it very well in the end). However, re-delving into the stories as an adult woman now I felt a certain something between Remus and Hermione, them being my favourite HP characters aided that fact.  
> In this piece, Hermione is about 17/18 and there are no sexual actions. In this the Tonks/Remus relationship doesn't exist. It takes place sometime during Hallows, I'd say. I invented Hermione's 'affliction' in this, as I have experiences with it which inspired me as well.  
> This is a mere experiment on my part with two characters I love who I think would in many ways compliment each other very well. As English is not my first language, there might be minor errors in this, sorry in advance.  
> Thank you for reading, I'd love to have your thoughts!

Protego totalum

 

She had nodded, but not listened to him. 

‘If you see any of them, run. Don’t fight. Please. Run. And should you see me and I have not turned back yet – run all the same.’

There she was, centimetres away and he – was not himself. Not yet. 

He had told her to leave, he wanted her to leave – ‘I’d never forgive myself if…’ - why didn’t she…?

It had appeared to him a vision rather than reality, the assembly of darkly clad strangers forming ahead of them.

The moment he had begun to turn, to change back, he had heard them. Smelled them. 

But he had been too far in between both his creatures to act on any impulse, to do anything else than turn, to prevent whatever.

He had wanted her to run.

Her gaze on him, frantic. He had wanted to speak, but there were no words to find yet.

She, as opposed to the group of wizards and witches in those familiar dark robes, had smelled distinctively of fear and dread, at that moment and had he had the strength, he’d have leapt forwards. 

Her eyes had examined him, a moment, nothing but a few seconds, a quick enough assessment and still he’d smelled her fear as much as the other’s impending triumph at what they were about to do. 

Once more her eyes found his in a directness unfamiliar to him in his second state, she would look away, cast her eyes down or leave all together in any other situation with him as the being. 

Yet in that instant, she had looked him deep in the eyes, canine still and her command had been entirely wordless.

Stay where you are. Don’t move, don’t.

In what he could only name as the very next second, she had whirled around to face the group, raising both her hands and wand.

The words she had said, she had implored, fervently, in a voice brittle in his ears, the sound muted as though he were suddenly hearing her through water, an entire sea.  
‘PROTEGO TOTALUM.’

He woke to feel his body trembling, his now human limbs shaking, as always seemingly without cease. Something was covering him, or his stomach and upper legs at least as he lay there, crouching as though he’d sought to disappear within himself. 

An image came back to him.

Her, kneeling before him, dragging her jacket from her arms and back. Then, trembling fingers spreading the textile on him where his now human skin would grow cold soon enough. 

‘Leave. Go. Back to the burrow. I’ll, I’ll…’

He was so very tired, the shape of the being still echoing within his frame.

‘Save yourself, please.’ His lips numb, the words had taken as much effort as though he were moving rocks with bare hands.

His gaze had found hers, through his drooping lids.

Her gaze; had she always been this woman there in front of him – the brightest…; her eyes. As though he’d never seen them before.

Abruptly, he sat up, muscles tingling, feeling raw and used. He tied the jacket around himself with its sleeves, pulling himself off the cool, damp earth.

The forest span a web of dark shapes and tangles of foliage and roots around him now that his eyes were no longer that of the being. 

It was her he saw at once. 

Her name dangled on his tongue, clumsy and numb with exhaustion and her name slipped from his lips as he dragged himself to his feet and across to where she lay as though fallen asleep in waiting. 

He called her name again, in a low voice, aiming to wake, but not to frighten her, she’d been through more than enough without his doing.

Only when she showed no visible reaction did he touch her shoulder, so softly as though she might shatter like fine crystal, when everyone knew her to be so very tough, solid in times of incertitude, in times like these. 

He didn’t want for her to feel like she had to be that just yet, that which he had seen young women like Lily become in the first war, the warrior, the outcast, the one hiding in tents and improvised shelters, paying with her life’s worth for the mistakes of an entire society. 

At the thought something inside him stirred, reverberating like the mechanism inside a grandfather’s clock; an echo of his being. 

Her skin was warm enough underneath his fingers, warm enough for him to know she would be alright. She hadn’t shied from his touch and remained motionless.

‘Can you hear me, Hermione?’ he asked, his voice still low and even. ‘Are you hurt?’

He heard her breathe in a strained manner. 

She didn’t open her eyes, but pressed them tightly shut, answering with a stifling moan:  
‘Head.’

An urge rose within him, to lay his hand on her forehead (as though that would soothe her let alone mend her pain in any way) and he fought it down instantly.

He heard her exhale, before adding:  
‘Nausea also. I’ll…’

She inhaled sharply.

‘I see’, he muttered as he understood, the instinct he had mastered coming back. The wolf was still too close to his consciousness. 

‘Hold on, a couple of seconds and we’re far away from here.’

And away they were as he Apparated with her, using up all his remaining force after the moon and the transformations. 

They landed in the kitchen and he thanked Merlin and all others concerned that there was someone called Molly Weasley in their lives. 

A couple of minutes later he had trotted up the stairs to a vacant room and fallen onto the bed. Falling asleep he swore he could still smell her – now however without any trace of fear or dread.

 

The late afternoon sun was still extraordinarily bright as he stepped down the stairs almost soundlessly, having taken care of himself with a shower and fresh, albeit well-worn clothing. 

Exhaustion clung to him still, like an extra weight he dragged around with himself, making him feel slightly weak in the knees with each step. 

But all this was familiar enough not to bother him anymore – years and years of that very same feeling had made it almost boringly redundant.

He sometimes used it to get drunk when he really felt like he wanted to – it was so easy then, it took a beer or two or one reasonable shot of Firewhiskey for him to be done and dealt with after the nights of the moon. 

This afternoon however, something was out of the order and there was really only one thing he wanted to take of before letting himself be consumed by his exhaustion again. 

People were scattered around the kitchen, the mood overall seeming rather light to him. 

He did not concentrate on any part of the conversations – it seemed to him almost as though he had entered a scene wherein the sound had been muted, another post-moon phenomenon familiar to him, it had so often made him feel detached from the world in its entirety - and only let his gaze wander, searching for – 

‘Remus’, said Molly, approaching him. She had a way of appearing out of nowhere that would make several people from his school years blush with jealousy. 

Although his worn-out senses played their part in this just the same.

He returned her smile, throwing another glance across the small crowd in the kitchen, unsure of whether –

Before he could put his intention into words, he felt her hand on his arm, patting it reassuringly, a gesture he had not known he needed.

‘Let me’, she added with a soft smile, already taking a step in the opposite direction leading him away from the kitchen. 

He caught some glances, some curious, others only mildly interested and he had not enough energy to react.

‘Look Molly, I do not want to – I don’t know if it is right at all to – I only want to – by all means, invading her privacy might not seem becoming, it might not be reasonable, but - can you tell me? I don’t want to do any wrong by her, Molly.’

When he looked at her after those half (and in his head entirely phrased) sentences had left his lips, she shook her head with determination and pulled him along.

‘Stop thinking yourself into a corner now, will you. She’ll be glad to see you.’

He acknowledged this with a tilt of his head.

‘I wouldn’t be so convinced of that.’

‘Oh, but when are you ever, really. Apart from your Order businesses, that is.’

She lessened the impact of her words with a smirk.

‘If you must know, she asked about you. Whether you’d be alright, whether you were staying here.’

He remained quiet as they walked further down the hall.

‘How is she, Molly?’

They had come to stand in front of a closed door.

‘She’ll say. The most important thing is to have you both back safely. Do go in.’

Another smile, a heartfelt squeeze on his arm and she had turned on her heel to go back to the others.

He lifted his hand to knock and listened in when there was no response. 

When he opened the door, he was met with more than semi-darkness. 

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he realised that the heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows to hinder the bright remainders of the afternoon sun from entering and neither electric light had been switched nor any candle lit. 

He expected to be met with a feeling of unease, when instead after a few seconds of adjusting to it, the room’s almost-darkness had a calming quality to it that surprised him with its serenity. 

His eyes were quick to make do with what light there was and he saw a bottle of water and a glass next to it on a table in front of the two old sofas, on one of which…

‘Hermione?’ he said in a low tone, not wanting to whisper in case she had not realised him enter the room. He stayed where he was, directly in front of the door now ajar.

‘Yes’ came her answer and let out a breath of relief at hearing her voice at last. 

Although she sounded not much like herself in that instant, it was but a faint silhouette of her voice; it didn’t seem as brittle as it had sounded in that forest, but now it sounded – faint and exhausted, with a drowsiness he’d never heard in her voice.

He slowly made his way into the room and went to stand in front of the sofa she laid on, stretched out on one side, facing the table and thus now him. 

Her lower legs and feet were put up on cushions and her head laid on a rather big, fluffy seeming cushion as well. 

‘If you’d like me to leave, I’d understand.’

‘No’, he heard her breathe and it seemed to be strenuous to utter even one such word. 

Something about her voice pierced him somewhere inside himself and slowly he knelt down between the small table and the sofa, so that his eyes became level with hers.

Her eyes found his and she seemed to read his question, even now.

‘Migraine’, she whispered, closing her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching as though in suppressed disgust.

‘I’m sorry’, he answered in a voice just as low.

She seemed to want to shake her head, but realised just in time to refrain from it and winced slightly before she answered.

‘No – had it – since – I – was – a – little girl.’

‘I hear it is absolutely and utterly terrible’ he replied, keeping his tone low now that he knew. Therefore the nausea and no light, no sound, no company. 

He could tell from his own experience how it was to deal with senses becoming acute, with every single thing being an attack on every sense.

Even through the almost-darkness he could see how a smile had started to sneak across her features which she suppressed before it hurt her.

‘Ironic. Me – telling you – about – pain.’

He shook his head, lightly.

‘I would not say so. After all, you did so much. For both of us.’

He watched her draw breath more quickly now as though she wanted to utter a more lengthy response and he continued calmly before she’d put a strain on herself.

‘It was brilliant.’

‘What?’

‘Protego totalum’ he muttered and he could not quite keep the awe out of his voice, unwantedly eliciting what sounded like a tiny, muted laugh from her, causing her right hand to shoot up to her face, covering her temple in a second of visible agony.

‘You – sound – like – a – teacher – now.’

He smiled softly.

‘What else would I sound like?’

Through the almost perfect darkness, he watched her face, expressionlessly calm now, and before he knew he felt her hand reach in his direction, crossing what small distance there was. 

As her fingers caught onto a sleeve of his rough cardigan, softened over the years by many washings. Her hand would not come to rest there now, though. 

He felt her cold fingers reach further, brushing against his palm. 

He studied her face, her eyes which had now opened to look exactly where her line of vision was and not up into his eyes. He assumed it would cause her too much pain to turn her head or even lift her eyes. 

Thus, she looked at her hand, visibly seeking hold onto him, finding no fulfillment in catching fabric only. 

Softly, he touched her fingers and laid his hand onto hers, almost wrapping her pale skin there into his.

He heard her breathe, exhaling audibly and steadily. Her eyes slowly shut again and he felt the pressure of her fingers against his skin, clinging to him with unexpected vehemence. 

As she held onto him, her scent became more prominent for his senses again, that scent that was so definitely hers, unmistakable. 

‘I ought to protect you, not you me.’

The words sounded raw and wounded as they left his lips and he felt her fingertips shift slightly and they moved against his palm as though seeking to soothe him.

His gaze wandered across her face before it landed back on their hands so it took him a second to realise she had, ever so silently, started to speak.

‘Protection – is no – promise.’

She took a breath before she continued, closing her eyes in visible pain.

‘It’s only being stronger when the other can't be – for an instant.’

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. He muttered her name then, emotions tangled up in it.

‘That is what I’ll be then, when it comes to it’ he said then, in a tone so low he was not sure she could make him out.

She clung to his hand. 

He stayed, next to her, in the almost perfect darkness, in silence, wrapped in the absence of all else.


End file.
